Now, everyone was waiting to see what damage had been done. Apparently the ski patrol had been able to wake Klaudia up before they’d loaded her onto the rescue sled and pulled her down the mountain, but she’d been in a lot of pain. An ambulance was waiting for her at the bottom by the time Aria butt-slid down the treacherous hill, and they’d all come here. This didn’t seem like a very decent trauma center, though. It looked more like a DMV.

Noel slumped back down in the plastic chair next to Aria. “My mom’s beside herself. She wanted to come up here and take care of Klaudia, but I said she should wait.”

“She must be so worried,” Aria mumbled, closing the copy of Ladies’ Home Journal in her lap. She’d been reading the same line of an article about how to make prize-winning cheesecake for the last twenty minutes.

Noel leaned closer. “So what happened, exactly? How did Klaudia fall?”

Aria looked at him, feeling a mix of guilt and regret. Noel had arrived on the scene a few minutes after everything happened; he hadn’t seen a thing. They’d been too keyed up to talk on the drive here, but he kept gazing at Aria suspiciously, as if he sensed she’d done something awful.

“I’m not really sure.” It was the truth—she hadn’t meant to push Klaudia off the lift. Shove her away, yeah. But not hurt her.

“Were you guys fighting or something?” Noel searched Aria’s face. “Did she, like, jump?”

Aria shook her head. “She just . . . slipped off. It was really weird.”

Noel crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a long, discerning look that made Aria’s skin prickle. He didn’t believe her. But what was she supposed to do, tell him the real story? That Klaudia said I’m going to fuck your boyfriend in perfect English, without even an accent? That Klaudia had lunged for her, looking crazed and vengeful? Noel would just accuse Aria of being jealous again.

She turned away, fearing that if she stared at him for much longer she’d blurt out everything—and not just what happened on the lift, either. The stuff about A, too. The stuff about Jamaica. The stuff Aria couldn’t block out on the lift today, the horrible thing she’d done. The horrible thing A knew about.

Then again, maybe what she did wasn’t as horrific as she’d thought all these months. If A was Ali—and who else could it be?—then Aria’s push hadn’t killed her.

The door to the treatment rooms opened, and a female doctor in a crisp white coat emerged. “Ms. Huusko is resting,” she said. “You can see her now.”

Everyone rose and followed her to the back. The doctor parted a pink-striped curtain, and there was Klaudia, lying on a cot with a bulky white cast on her ankle. Her blond hair spilled across the pillow. Her plain cotton gown gaped at the bosom. Her lips were pink and glossy as though she’d recently applied a fresh coat of lipstick. She’d managed to look ready for sex even in the hospital.

“Oh my God, Klaudia,” Aria said, feeling a rush of remorse despite Klaudia’s perky appearance. “Are you okay?”

“Does it hurt?” Noel and the other boys asked too, gathering around her bed.

“I fine.” Klaudia simpered at all of them, all traces of her excellent English enunciation gone. “Just a little owie.”

“She has a broken ankle.” A nurse bustled in and wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Klaudia’s arm. “That’s pretty minor, considering the accident she had. Luckily, her fall was toward the top of the slope. If it had been in the middle, she would’ve been in real trouble.”

“Yes, is crazy!” Klaudia pretended to wipe sweat off her brow. “I never fall from lift before! Oof!”

“So what happened?” Noel perched on the edge of Klaudia’s bed.

Klaudia licked her lips and eyed Aria. The only sound in the room was the nurse pumping up the blood pressure cuff. Every muscle in Aria’s body tensed, waiting for the blow. Of course Klaudia was going to rat her out. She wanted to sleep with Noel—this would get Aria out of the way.

Finally, Klaudia shifted higher in her bed. “It is blur. I no remember.”

“Are you sure?” Noel curled his hands over his knees. “It just seems crazy to me that you’d slip off a lift. You’ve been skiing for years.”

Klaudia shrugged, looking faint. “I don’t know,” she said weakly, her eyelids fluttering closed.

Eric punched Noel’s arm. “Dude, don’t push her.”

“Maybe she has amnesia or something,” Christopher said.

Aria grabbed the bed for balance, her heart still racing. Could that be it? Had Klaudia lost her memory?

The doctor parted the curtain. “Don’t overwhelm her too much, guys. Because Ms. Huusko hit her head, we want to observe her for a while to make sure she isn’t showing any signs of a concussion. If she is, we’ll have to airlift her to a bigger facility. If not, we can probably discharge her tomorrow morning.”

Everyone nodded. “I’ll book the rooms for an extra night,” Noel said in a perfunctory voice, whipping out his iPhone.

“Oh.” Aria looked at him. “I can’t stay an extra night. I promised my dad I’d babysit Lola.”

“Fine.” Noel didn’t even look up from his Google search. “Do you mind taking the bus home?”

Aria opened her mouth, then shut it again. She’d hoped Noel would drive her back to Rosewood himself. Couldn’t the other brothers stay here with Klaudia? Couldn’t he come back tomorrow to retrieve them?

But Noel didn’t offer, and so Aria shrugged into her coat and dug out her phone to check Greyhound times. “What time do you think you’ll be back tomorrow?” she asked Noel. “Maybe we can hang out in the evening.”

Noel’s head shot up. “We don’t even know if Klaudia’s going to be okay yet. I don’t think we should make plans until we do.”

“Oh.” Aria backed away from him. “Right. Sorry.”

“And anyway, I should probably hang out with Klaudia for the next few days.” Noel glanced at Klaudia’s sleeping shape. “It’s the least that I can do. She’s probably going to be in a lot of pain. She’ll need someone to help her get around.”

“O-of course.” Aria fought back tears.

The next Greyhound bus to Philly was in an hour. Aria could walk to the station from the clinic, and Noel could grab the rest of her things from the hotel and bring them home tomorrow. Just as Aria was backing out of the tiny curtained-off area, something made her turn. Klaudia’s eyes had opened, and she stared straight at Aria. There was a tiny, victorious smile on her face. Slowly, deliberately, she raised her small, pale hand, and gave Aria the finger.

Aria gasped. The realization was like a rush of cold air. Klaudia didn’t have amnesia—she remembered everything on the ski lift with perfect clarity. And now she had exactly what she wanted. Now she had something to hold over Aria’s head. Now, Klaudia had Aria in her power.

Just like A did.

Chapter 31

Congratulations, now eff-off

Later that afternoon, Emily pulled into her driveway just as an ad blared over the radio. “The devastating deceit. The identity twists. The lives at stake. Get the whole story tonight on the anniversary of the Poconos fire and her death. Pretty Little Killer. Brought to you by . . .”

“Ugh,” Emily moaned, switching it off. She couldn’t wait until this day was over and the advertisements went away. She certainly didn’t want to relive the day of Ali’s death—any of them. Especially since she wasn’t even sure if Real Ali was truly dead.

She got out of the car, pulled her swim gear bag over her shoulder, and walked up the snowy front path. Before she opened the door, she tried texting Chloe one more time. I need to talk to you. It isn’t my fault. I didn’t know how to tell you. She’d texted Chloe five times since the swim meet, but Chloe hadn’t written back.

Sighing, she slipped her key in the door, but the knob turned easily already. That was strange—her parents usually kept the door locked tight, afraid of intruders. “Hello?” Emily called in the foyer. No answer. That was weird, too—her parents always at least mumbled some sign of their presence, even if they were beyond pissed at her. The house seemed occupied, though—there was an unfamiliar scent in the air and a nagging sense that someone had just walked down the hall.

The hairs on Emily’s arms stood on end. Various scenarios flipped through her head. What if A was here? What if A had hurt her family? Maybe A—Ali—was pulling out all the stops. Maybe this was the day everything was going down.

A horrible thought stopped her cold. Today was the day of reckoning, the anniversary of Ali’s death, the day she’d tried to kill them. Naturally this was the day she’d come back to finish them off.

“H-hello?” Emily called out again, creeping down the hall toward the kitchen. A sound made her stop and turn. Was that . . . a giggle? Her heart banged in her chest. It was coming from the living room, which was closed off to the hall by French doors. Those doors were never closed.

There was the giggle again. Emily’s hands started to shake. Her mouth went cottony-dry. Slowly, she pushed on the door. It gave way with a wailing creak. What was inside? Dead bodies? The police, here to arrest her for what she did in Jamaica? Ali?

“Surprise!”

Emily screamed and jumped back, bumping hard against the doorjamb. Tons of balloons were tied to the chairs, a wrapped present sat on the couch, and her mother had placed an enormous sheet cake that was in the shape of the University of North Carolina logo on the coffee table. Her parents rushed toward her, huge smiles on their faces.

“Congratulations on the scholarship!” Mr. and Mrs. Fields enveloped her in a hug, the first one they’d given her in months. “We’re so, so proud of you!”

There were more people behind Emily’s parents. She craned over their lumpy bodies and saw baby Grace, Mr. and Mrs. Roland . . . and Chloe. “Oh my God,” Emily whispered, letting her arms go limp.

Mrs. Fields turned and gestured to them. “I invited the Rolands over for cake to help us celebrate! If it weren’t for them, this might not have happened!”

“Yes, thank you again,” Mr. Fields said, walking over to the family and pumping Mr. Roland’s hand up and down.

“It was no trouble,” Mr. Roland said in a stiff, fake-friendly voice. He avoided Emily’s gaze, which was fine with her.

“I’m so glad it worked out for you!” Mrs. Roland gave Emily a big hug. As Emily pressed up to her thin chest, Chloe made a small, choked noise. Emily glanced at her. Her eyes blazed with hatred. The corners of her mouth didn’t show a hint of a smile. To Chloe, Emily was the adulteress. The home wrecker.

Mrs. Fields cut the cake and served everyone a slice. Thankfully, the adults engaged in their own conversation, leaving Emily and Chloe alone. Emily caught Chloe’s eye. “I need to talk to you.”

Chloe turned away, pretending she didn’t hear her. But Emily couldn’t let Chloe go on believing something that wasn’t true. She grabbed Chloe’s arm and dragged her into the kitchen. Chloe went willingly, but she leaned against the island, crossed her arms over her chest, and pretended to be fascinated by the chicken cookie jar that sat on the counter. She wouldn’t look Emily in the eye.